Thanksgiving Waffle Murder (Wicked Waffle Paranormal Cozies Book 3)

by Carolyn Q. Hunter

  She cringed as her feet touched the bare, hardwood flooring. It was icy cold, and she had to tiptoe all the way into the living room until her feet rested on the red and gold area rug. Luckily, there were still some orange coals in the fireplace and they gave off a comforting heat. “Awww,” she breathed out with satisfaction, crouching down on the rug for a second to drink in the warmth.

  The images from her dream returned and she considered again that maybe she was having some sort of a flashback to someone else’s memory.

  She’d had ghosts bring up old unsolved murders before, trying to get her to help finally bring some justice to the situation, but never like this. Never had she relived the death of someone.

  It was horrifying, to say the least.

  However, was this truly what was happening? Was some long-deceased woman from beyond the grave reaching out to her to help solve this murder? If so, how could Sonja possibly think to do anything about it? After all, if she was correct about the time period, that meant the murder happened during the early nineteen-hundreds. Would it even be possible?

  Shaking her head, she knew whoever was trying to contact her had her in their clutches. She’d tried so hard the day before to ignore the dream and push it aside. Now, once again, she was falling into the trap of curiosity.

  If anything, she’d have to do some digging into the history of the building and see if this murder really did occur. However, before that, she wanted to see something first.

  She needed to go down into the manor’s kitchen.

  * * *

  Wearing her heavy leather jacket and her snow boots, Sonja stepped out the side door and into the darkness of the night outside. The snow had continued to fall and there was at least an inch on the ground. Much of it had likely melted during the original downfall and only started to really accumulate as everything froze over solid with the nighttime.

  Rushing through the chilly air, and regretting her decision to come outside, she quickly found her way into the manor through the back-patio door. Stepping into the hallway, she quickly found the servants stairwell and headed down it and into the belly of the house.

  The kitchen was pitch dark and Sonja fumbled around for a light switch. She wasn’t very familiar with the manor yet, not like the cottage where she spent most of her time, so trying to find a switch in such a huge room was difficult

  The stone walls were icy cold, and she could only imagine the cobbled flooring was the same. She was grateful to be wearing her boots.

  Having little success in locating a switch, she let out a long and heavy sigh. “Ugh, come on. I just want a little light.”

  Almost as if in response to her very words, there was a popping sound from across the room and a blip of low orange light appeared. Squinting toward it, she realized there was a candle burning. “Gram?” she called out, expecting him to be standing nearby, asking her what she was doing up in the middle of the night.

  However, there was no such response.

  The candle had seemingly lit itself.

  Sonja felt an all too familiar chill run through her body, and it wasn’t from the cold evening. Maybe Ally was right. This place was very spooky—maybe too spooky for a great Thanksgiving dinner. Sonja didn’t like the idea of ghosts playing a larger role in her life again. She much preferred to quietly go about her days without so much as a blip from her clairvoyance.

  It wasn’t that she wanted to completely avoid her ability, but when she’d first learned about it, it had preoccupied nearly every aspect of her life.

  However, she also couldn’t turn down someone in need—even if they were dead.

  She owed it to the maid to at least feel things out, get a spiritual vibration from the room.

  Walking over to the counter where the candle sat burning, Sonja picked it up with a reluctant, shaky hand. It sat in an old brass candle holder she didn’t remember. Were there still items like this around the manor?

  Why not?

  After all, the place was huge and had been around for so many years.

  Lifting the candle high she illuminated each corner of the room one-by-one, half-expecting the wisp of a spirit—all dressed in a maid uniform—staring back at her with dead eyes. Luckily, there was no such figure hanging about, and Sonja would be lying if she didn’t say she was glad for it.

  The real test came after that, however, when a knocking sound came from within the large metal door on the antique brick oven. If there was anything truly supernatural going on—as proven by the strange self-lighting candle—it seemed to be coming from there.

  At least, that was her best educated guess as a natural clairvoyant and amateur paranormal investigator.

  Tiptoeing over to the stove, almost as if she were worried someone inside might hear her, she carefully grasped the metal door handle, keeping the candle high. She paused there a moment, her knuckles turning white with anticipation.

  Then, with one large breath of air, she swung the door open.

  There was an initial resistant squeak of rusted metal against metal. Clearly, the stove had not been used for some time. The electric oven positioned on the other side of the room most likely had replaced it for all intents and purposes.

  Peering into the yawning mouth of the brick, Sonja leaned in carefully with the candle held out. The interior seemed uninteresting. Blank, charred walls and piles of aged ash were all that seemed to be present.

  On top of everything, Sonja didn’t have any of her normal tingling sensations. “Nothing,” she grunted quietly.

  That’s when something moved.

  Freezing in place just to make sure her eyes weren’t playing any tricks on her, she stared down at the ashes. As she had expected, the chill ran up and down her spine, sending little shockwaves clear through to her fingertips.

  Someone was there.

  Again, the ashes seemed to move of their own accord.

  Was it a rat living in them or something more strange and unexpected?

  The answer came as something pressed forward and seemed to form in the ashes. Suddenly a white hand sprung out and grabbed onto Sonja’s wrist. Gasping and trying to step back, Sonja found herself held in place by the firm white fingers. Slowly, more and more of the body appeared, like a zombie crawling from its grave, until a gentle woman’s face surfaced. Its eyes were full of tenderness with a hint of sadness hidden away.

  Help me, please, it whispered in the voice of a woman. Sonja, you can help me.

  Shocked, Sonja dropped the candle into the ashes, causing it to snuff out. Without another second of hesitation, she bolted up the stairs and out of the building.

  CHAPTER 5

  * * *

  As expected, Sonja didn’t sleep very much that evening. She managed to get in a few hours just before dawn, sitting in her favorite chair near a freshly stoked fire, but woke up with the chilly yellow sun of a new day around seven-thirty. The spooks and horrors of the night before had melted with the new light, and Sonja eagerly stood up. Today was a holiday, Thanksgiving, and one of the best days of the year.

  There was a lot to do before everyone started showing up and she needed to get a head start. She had a strong feeling that Gram was already up and about, maybe even preparing the turkey for the oven.

  Stepping into her slippers, two little smiling turkeys, she headed into the dining room to get a good look at the completed decorations. It was classy and beautiful all at the same time. The table had a long brown cloth with an autumn leaf patterned table runner. A large decorative cornucopia sat in the center of things.

  The side serving table also had a similar cloth.

  Brown, red, and orange streamers were hung along the ceiling with decorative turkeys hanging from strings. They looked handmade.

  Classic candles in brass candlesticks and holders were also spread throughout the room, waiting to be lit during the festivities.

  Sonja wondered for a second if perhaps this is where that candle from the night before came from.

  She s
hrugged off the thought and stepped into the dining room just as there was a knock on the front door. “Sonja, we’re here,” came her mother’s familiar sing-song voice from outside. “And it’s freezing cold, dear, so please hurry and open the door.

  As she should have expected, Sonja’s own parents had arrived early to “help” with things. Sonja didn’t mind and was looking forward to the company.

  “Good morning,” she greeted warmly, opening the door to her mom and dad. They both stood outside in large bundles of coats, hats, and scarves. The also each carried a large box full of kitchen items and food.

  “Hello, dear. Happy Thanksgiving.” Her mother stepped in, kissing her daughter on the cheek.

  “What is all that? You guys know I have a fully stocked kitchen here, right?” she teased, knowing her mother couldn’t stand to work with someone else’s things. It was bad enough having to cook in an unfamiliar kitchen.

  “Oh, these are better,” her mom pointed out without hesitation.

  “Morning, honey,” her father said in a welcoming tone, setting down the box and embracing his daughter in a warm hug. The outer layer of his coat was cold against her skin, but somehow still welcoming.

  Her father was one of the only other people who knew about Sonja’s clairvoyance, and that was only because he had some of the same abilities himself.

  “Oh, stop bothering the girl and bring that box into the kitchen,” her mother ordered. Diane Reed, on the other hand, had no idea about Sonja’s ghostly habits.

  “Yes, dear,” he replied, watching her disappear into the other room. He hugged his daughter again and she warmly accepted.

  “Can I take your coat and hang it up?”

  “Sure thing, hon,” he agreed, removing the jacket, scarf, and knit cap. He handed all three to her. “So, any encounters lately?” he whispered, just so Diane wouldn’t hear.

  It had been quite some time since Sam had asked his daughter about anything ghost related, but ever since Sonja had moved out of the guest house at her parent’s place, they hadn’t spent as much time together. They’d both settled into a comfortable routine of grabbing a burger together once a week. The topic of paranormal entities hadn’t come up.

  “Actually, yes.”

  “Samuel, where are you?” came the insistent tone from the kitchen.

  Both Sonja and her father chuckled quietly together. “I’ll have to fill you in later. I’d like your opinion,” she told him.

  “Got it. I better get in there before things get worse.”

  “You better,” she laughed.

  “Any plans for breakfast?”

  “I had a feeling you guys would be here early, so I planned ahead.”

  “Fantastic,” he beamed.

  “I’ll turn on the parade in the living room. We can listen to it as we work.”

  * * *

  Throughout the day, everyone began showing up of their own accord—all of them well before the allotted two o’clock meeting time—but Sonja didn’t mind.

  Alison, Alex, and their little girl Cynthia arrived at around ten, and Alex’s parents were right behind them. Vic carried large bags full of groceries he intended to use for cooking something delicious. “Since I don’t have to do the turkey this year, I thought a honey glazed ham was in order,” he announced with a jolly laugh, his belly shaking the whole time.

  Sonja thought he’d make a perfect Santa for the upcoming Christmas block party next month.

  Alex had his arms full of a stack of games, ones he had picked out to play. There was the famous Trivia Masters that everyone always got in on, a deduction themed game called Murder Manor, and a WWII game. She knew that the latter game could take up to three or four hours, and wondered if all the men were planning on getting in on it together. It would be funny to watch her father and Frank play.

  “Ah, I see you brought the entertainment,” she noted with a smile.

  “And you better get ready to lose,” Ally joked, tapping the trivia game. “I’ve been practicing.”

  She guided them in and took their coats to hang up in the closet.

  Sonja was thrilled they had all decided to come.

  Next, around ten-thirty, Frank and his parents arrived. “Happy Thanksgiving,” the blonde-haired sheriff announced, stepping inside and kissing Sonja.

  “Morning,” she laughed, hugging him tightly in return. It seemed his jean pockets were stuffed with items, as they bulged out. Sonja wondered what he could possibly be carrying besides his keys and wallet.

  A tall man with blonde hair and a woman with a long brown braid down her back stepped in. “Sonja, it’s great to see you again,” Frank’s mother said, rushing over to embrace her.

  “Franky! Hannah! It’s so good to see you,” she declared in response.

  “We brought some things to cook,” Hannah held up her own bags. “Pecan and pumpkin pie. How does that sound?”

  “Sounds great. I think the kitchen is going to be a busy place,” she noted.

  “What’s the plan for us?” Frank asked, removing his jacket.

  Sonja raised an eyebrow, trying not to laugh. “I think you’re being roped into a game of War of Nations with the boys.” She knew board games weren’t his favorite thing, but it was tradition.

  “Let me guess. A board game?”

  “You got it. You’ll have a good time,” she encouraged him.

  Frank scowled slightly, but let it melt away in a smile. “Okay, okay, I’m willing to give it a try.”

  Taking all the coats into the closet, she headed back into the kitchen to start helping out. If there wasn’t enough room for everyone, she knew they could easily use the huge kitchen in the manor house. That was where the turkey was being prepared, at least.

  Meanwhile, the men were gathering to set up the war game.

  The only person who hadn’t shown up yet was Tabatha, and Sonja wondered if she might arrive early as well. She hoped the lonely woman would enjoy the day with them.

  Little did Sonja know, Tabatha wouldn’t be enjoying it at all.

  CHAPTER 6

  * * *

  “Okay, everyone. Here is a little something to tide you over until dinnertime,” Sonja announced, stepping into the dining room from the kitchen with a large plate filled to the brim with waffle sticks. They had a dark orange coloration, a crispy outer shell, and were steaming with delicious warmth. Also on the tray was a bowl of the cinnamon-nutmeg cream along with the pumpkin sauce for dipping.

  The men, all except Vic who was working on his ham, were situated at the table with a large sprawling board game map of the world laid out. Small soldiers, fighter planes, tanks, and boats were spread all around with cards and dice—signs of an all-out war right there in the very room. Sonja set the tray off to the side, just out of the way of the game but also easily accessible.

  “Looks great, Sonj’,” Frank’s father praised, reaching out and taking one and biting into it without any dip. “Hm, is that pumpkin I taste?”

  Sonja beamed and nodded her head. “It’s my special dish for the season. You should try it with the pumpkin sauce and cream.”

  “I will,” he smirked, holding up the half a waffle stick.

  Sonja glanced over at her boyfriend. He was bent over the game with a stone solid furrow on his brow, an expression of severe concentration. He had a handful of cards and was looking from his playing pieces, to his hand, and back again. For a man who always said he disliked board games, he was really getting into this one.

  It took all of Sonja’s self-control to keep herself from laughing.

  “I’m going to run and check on Gram and see how the turkey is coming along. You boys enjoy,” she noted, heading around the dining room table toward the front entryway where her jacket was hanging.

  “Hey, who are you calling boys,” her own father joked, waving to her.

  Sonja laughed and shook her head, slipping into her coat and stepping out the door into the chilly autumn air. A very light snow was still falling, gi
ving a strange silence to the mountainside. She thought of her father inside, playing games with everyone. It seemed almost silly to think about. Frank was even funnier, especially since he’d looked so serious.

  Because everyone else had also shown up early, she’d never gotten a chance to discuss the strange dream and the accompanying supernatural encounter in the kitchen. She supposed it would have to wait until after Thanksgiving was over.

  Pulling her jacket tighter, she felt something bulging from the right front pocket. Digging her hand in, she retrieved her cellphone, having completely forgotten that she left it there the night before. “Hello?” she whispered, while she pushed the button to turn on the screen.

  Much to her surprise, she had multiple missed calls, all from Tabatha Rondo. In addition to the missed calls were multiple texts and voicemails. Each of the text messages basically said the same thing: Do you mind if I come over early? I don’t want to be alone right now.

  Sonja felt bad for not having paid better attention to her phone. However, something about the messages bothered her. She decided to listen to her voicemail.

  “Hi, Sonja. It is Tabatha Rondo. I know you said things weren’t getting started until two, but I was hoping I could maybe come over early. I . . . I don’t really want to be alone right now.”

  Just as Sonja had feared, there was a hint of fear and strain in Tabatha’s voice. Hitting the button to move to the next message, she listened again. “It’s Tabatha again, just wondering if you got my other messages. I really would love to come over, if you don’t mind. It would make me feel more comfortable.”

  More comfortable? What did she mean by that?

  Sonja listened to three more messages. Each one sounded more worried than the last. A sickening knot formed in her stomach. This didn’t seem normal.

  Sonja had heard enough and instantly tapped the redial button.